


A Cold Circus

by asynchronoustiger



Category: Homestuck
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Cold War, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asynchronoustiger/pseuds/asynchronoustiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the 1960's and the Cold War is taking off! With the kids on the Western Bloc and the Trolls on the Eastern bloc, it's time for a game of intrigue, deception, spying, torture, romance, and the other things that makes modern day spies wax nostalgic for this era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pilot

May 10th 1960.  
Dnepr Radio Facility at Balkash-9 ,USSR

Your name is Francis Gary Powers.

Nyet, Good try American.

You feel your neck strain against a rope and vision slowly fades from your eyes. At the last moment before you pass out, it loosens, and you gasp for air. You’d swear there’s a bag over your head because its pitch black and you can’t see anything. Ironically though, you still have  
your aviators on your head. You feel the rope around your neck, thankfully loosened. How the hell does this broad see anything anyway?

Name, American?

Your name is Dave Strider and you’ve probably gotten yourself into the worst mess of your life. You know, they did warn you what would happen if you got caught. You were supposed to just do some reconnaissance. Get info on their bases. Just some simple, wartime, probably illegal but necessary reconnaissance. You were supposed to be safe, oh so high in the air. Of course, that didn’t work out either. They told you what to do if you were going to get shot down. Self-destruct. Destroy any evidence. Destroy yourself.

Of course, the self destruct mechanism fails.

They plan on this of course. You insisted it be in a coin, your little lucky pendant. Your savior, or more accurately, your end. A little brick from the hidden needle and you’re dead before anything can stop the toxin. You know what the alternative is, knowing that you probably won’t see America again. That you will rot away in some gulag in the middle of Russia, dying a slow painful death amidst cold, hunger, and disease.

And yet you still can’t do it. You don’t know why but you can’t end it right there, lying in the field near the broken plane. You’re a Strider. Fear isn’t something you feel. Hell, you were willing to fly into the middle of Russia time and time again, risking death by a fiery explosion. Die an honorable death for country and freedom. But when it comes to do the deed yourself…. You can’t. Damned again Strider.

These random thoughts of yours flit back and forth as you’re repeatedly strangled by the Russian bitch with night vision. Yeah that’s rude of you, but it’ll keep you sane you suppose. Occasionally, you’ll feel some kind of metallic stick or pole glance over your face, and the occasional sniff.

Sniff? Why the hell is she sniffing you?

Aww, it’s quite a handsome one we have here too!  
“Hell yeah I am. Can’t you obviously see these stunning American good looks through all of this bitch blackness?”

Mr. Strider, if it’s pitch black how do you imagine that iI can see you?

“I don’t know, who knows what kind of freaks the Russians have taking care of freedom’s best pilots.”

And freedom’s best pilot hasn’t figured out why I keep tapping with this cane all the time and prodding you with it.

“I don’t know maybe you like music, like I know how it is, i do some music myself you know…. wait. You’re blind aren’t you. I’ve been getting necktied by some blind russian chick in the middle of pitch blackness.”

You can’t see anything but you suddenly feel like you’re being a bit of an ass right here. There’s a very unique telling silence that gives it away.

‘Shit.”

The Russian’s laughter is this weird chirp.

Bog ty moy! You Americans are really thick of it. Like even a cute CIA superstar like you.

“That’s me, CIA superstar…. I said I was CIA?”

See, at least you’re honest when confronted with some truths. Would you like to know what the state of your plane was when you landed.”

“Lemme guess, pristine like a wild meadow.”

Very funny, and quite on the mark too. Ah well. I can only joke arounnd like this because it’s your last day here. We’ve gotten really all we need from you.

So much for your interrogation training.

If it makes you feel any better, you probably won’t remember most of it. And to be honest , it confirms stuff we already know.

“Well shit. So I guess I’m no longer some beautiful lady’s plaything any longer?”

Quite the charmer. And no. You’ve spent more than enough time here really.

You’ll never forget how quickly her voice changes from playful to serious.

After all, we really didn’t need information from you. You’re not supposed to be here, and looks like your bosses are going to find out very, very soon. There’ll be a judgement for you, Mr. Dave Strider. We’ll make sure to send you to somewhere cold and lonely because no one, not even cool american aces are to be permitted to poke around in mother Russia. In MY mother Russia.

And just like that, it changes back. You squirm again as the noose tightens one last time. and you hear her voice very close to the back of her head.

Which is all the pity really, because I greatly enjoyed our sessions. It’s not often that I get such fun toys to play with. Goodbye Mr. Strider. I would hope to see you soon, but I wouldn’t plan on it.

She stops for a moment to giggle a bit as if she made some perfect joke. Which in a way it is.

Your name is Dave Strider and you're about to cause an international incident.


	2. The Agent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little blast to the past to catch up on everyone's favorite grumpy Soviet agent.

June 21 1957  
Brookyln, New York. USA

==> Be the intelligence officer

Your name is Karkat Vantas. 

Or it’s your codename. Who knows? You couldn’t give two shits really because out of all the names you’ve had, this one sticks in your brain for some reason. Your other names are your cover for now as long as you’re in the US. Only Tsentr and maybe other fellow agents here know your true name. Which of course you wouldn’t give out at all. Only a real doblo yeb would let other agents in on the codename. Seriously a prodigy agent like you knows much better than that. You’ve been here since 1949. If you didn’t know the drill, you’d probably be tossed in the slammer or squeezed by the capitalist pigdogs at the CIA. 

But right now you’re in a tight fix. Because of him. That slobbering drinking piece of shit perhot podzalupnaya Makara. After all the shit he’s pulled you regret not slitting his liquor scarred throat and dumping his corpse in a barrel and rolling him into the bay. Three years. Three years of putting up with his drinking, he arguing with his wife, his complete lack of regard for protocol, his complete failure when left on his on, his excuses ARGHH. Just another slob who can’t be trusted to do his fucking job. You leave for half a year, just half a year. Trust him a little to keep things running here. Of course when you come back everything is in shambles. All those years you spent creating your network and agents blown to pieces. All of the drop money spent on booze and prostitutes. At that point you thought you’d had enough. That would be enough screwing over mother Russia from him. Sadly, you couldn’t kill him because the KGB don’t take to kindly to that. Amateurs. 

Somehow though, he wormed his way out claiming that the FBI cancelled one of his ships. It was time to send him back. You gave him 200 dollars to get back to Moscow, more than enough. Finally, Makara would be out of your hair. Finally, you could fix the mess he had made.

But no, that was not enough. You waited till August because neither you or Tsentr got word of him until August. Honestly after a few months you should have just bailed, telling everyone else to bail. Get back to Moscow before they catch you. But now you’re screwed because Makara has probably gotten himself caught. All your identities are probably flagged now, so you’re trapped in here waiting to get caught. Moscow has another identity, a new name for you. But there’s no time to get it done. 

You stand in your apartment room, pacing. There is nothing you can do and the reality of your situation hits you like a wall of bricks. You pour yourself some coffee, trying to calm your nerves. At least coffee is cheap and not brain rotting. Though nothing wrong with a good drink now and then but Makara, Oh Makara. If only he could actually hold your drink. Like a proper Russian. And not spend all the damned drop money that you sorely sorely needed for your operations. 

Then there’s a rap at your door. Perhaps it’s one of your artist friends. After all, that was your cover here. Turns out you’re not half bad at painting, and the artist lifestyle lets you buy on some weird hours. Not sure who it could be, since you told everyone you’d be gone for a while. And not many really know where this place is. The little worries that you suppress in order to do your job start to slip in like water through the cracks. You finish your coffee and open the door. 

Outside your door are a bunch of suits and a man with a goofy grin on his face is in right up in front of you.

“Ah Colonel Vantas. Great to meet you finally!”

At that moment time sort of stops for you. 

Makara you son of a Siberian whore. Nobody but him and people back at Moscow know your true identity. Which means he sold you out. He has betrayed you, and likely a good number of agents. Your face clams up and you have this mixture of rage and frustration because you’ve been played by a drunken washed up excuse for a kGB agent. That’s how they found your room. Honestly, you’re kinda dumb now that you think of it when you started to notice the tail. If only you’d admit to yourself how good you are at this job, then realize how someone got the drop on you.

Whoops. 

You realistically have two options now. Though going back would take you to some memories you’d suppressed, you won’t break. Because Tsentr considers it some of the highest level intelligence, you only know the name MKULTRA, and how much potential insanity level shit you might go through. But you won’t break. And they’ll toss you in a prison to rot the rest of your days away. It’s not a question of your value as an asset, but of practicality and delicacy. Can Moscow bring you back home? Yes. Are they willing to risk international incident and or World War 3 to do so? Of course not. 

You sort of notice the man outside with the annoyed goofball look on his face as he tries to get your attention. You wish he’d shut his fucking mouth and shove whatever western ideological merde back down his esophagus because you’re trying to get some deep thinking here. 

The other option is defect. You are high enough of an agent to know all sorts of goodies the Americans would love to get the greasy hands on. You will be immensely treasured as you spill all the goods on the networks that are in the US. Hell you might even take up drinking to make sure you don’t lose sleep over the agent’s you might have betrayed. Whatever deal Makara is getting you’ll get even better. 

But there’s something even gallons of good matured single malt scotch won’t wash away. Because the KGB routinely maintains profiles of it’s agents and despite all your covertness and savvy, the motherland always knows. They know how close you are too with , Intelligence Officer Captor, Operative Pyrope and Major Maryam. You hope to whatever god there is out there that they don't know the full extent of your feelings for the young Leijon.

The thing about the motherland is that everyone can be replaced, even if they really can’t. 

To refer to them as collateral is too unsubtle for your tastes. But essentially it’s the same. They’ll be taken out to the middle of Siberia with a bullet to the back of the neck and dumped 6 feet under. And like that, they will destroy everyone you love and cherish. And among all else, despite your shittyness as an invidiual, you’re loyal. 

The American in front of you is poking you in the face wondering how you’ve been able to stare all this long. He compliments your internal monologue on being very cleverly written, if a bit wordy and a touch dramatic. You’re eyes focus for a second and he stops blathering. To which you say:

“All of you pig fucking beef eating grease-stained maggot ridden vomit inducing uncultured capitalist pigdogs can shove whatever ideological putrid bullshit right back your assholes so that you may dismally fester in your own volcano of smarmy western filth.”

The the goofy grin vanishes again and is replaced with a look of annoyed irritation. Or something like that. You really couldn’t tell due to the whole dizziness part of being socked in the head drill. As you’re taken away, you allow yourself a small smile because damn, you’re good. 

Your name is Karkat Vantas. and you’re going to need to find a hobby that’ll last you the 50 years. Assuming you make it that long.


	3. The Liason

October 30th 1961  
Paris, France

==> Be the American Intelligence Liason

Your name is Rose Lalonde and it’s been a very long day.

The word “clusterfuck” describes the last few months with conflict scenario in Berlin. The standoff started when the Russians moved to cut off West Berlin. The whole world was watching, assuming that it might be the beginning of war. When it started, you went all around Europe. Today, you’ve spent the largest part of the day negotiating with various agents from the French side. You envy the weird homogeny of the Russians. Sure America is taking charge but technically all four sides own, whoops, control parts of West Germany, and coincidentally West Berlin. You can thank your mother for making that deal at the end of World War 2. No matter though. You know for a fact through the various agencies that the Russians will stand down. And the American contingent that just arrived outside the wall will hold back. WW3 doesn’t start and everyone wins. Business as usual.

Not quite though. You haven’t received word of Dave Strider within the past few months. Honestly whoever gave him the flight plan was a moron but that’s nothing that can be changed. Dave’s been a prisoner of the USSR for the past year and you want your brother out of there.

The thoughts and plans flicker in your mind as you check in to the Hotel Lutetia. The person at the desk recognizes you with a smile.

“Welcome back Mademoiselle. Your usual room is waiting for you upstairs. Bon nuit!”

A smile and your on the elevator upstairs. You open the door to your usual room that you keep in Paris. A frequent traveler like you has need of a place in pretty much every European capital. To say you’re the mother hen to the various intelligence agencies is putting it too kindly. You think harsh mistress sounds better. Or slave driver. Either way works. You close and lock the door, drop your bag near the desk available. You take special care to open the window to enjoy the nightly Parisian breeze rustle through the room and make yourself comfy sitting on the bed and facing the window. The wind is loud but you hear a silk swish across the floor before feeling a soft hand crease against your neck and chin. Perfect.

“You only dig yourself deeper Lalonde when you provoke me like this. In an open dark room with your back to the door? Good heavens. You could just stand in the middle of Paris with a sign saying “Here! Shoot me!”

“How else am I going to get your attention?”

“How about a phone call? Or a letter? Or a form of communication civilized people use?

You take her hand and turn around to lie on the bed. How you have missed that seductive whisper behind your ear.

“You knew I’d be here Kanaya. You know I’ve been in Paris for the last two weeks working out this arrangement, and knowing that, have been waiting nearby all this time to get to me past any surveillance.”

Her smile turns into a frown as sits up.

“Kanaya, you know this is the way we have to do things. I’m not sure how many laws our relationship breaks. Maybe even treaties. If word leaks out, I will be jailed, interrogated to which I mean that in the least pleasant terms, and then executed. Best case scenario is that I get kicked out of the Agency and my reputation and future is ruined.”

“…”

“And that’s me. I don’t want to imagine what would befall you.”

“Are you insinuating that your country is better and more civilized than ours?”

“Are we?” 

“... all this time and you still know nothing. The motherland perhaps lacks some of the “freedoms you people continue on but they are much more tolerant. And the price for that tolerance is perhaps must be paid in the blood of our enemies and traitors.” 

You slowly realize that this debating the philosophies of two superpowers is not only the greatest moodkiller but also the greatest elephant in the room. The elephant that threatens to trample all over this forbidden love you have between you and her. It’s certainly much better than any trashy novel - you would attribute that to the stakes that you bet against every time you meet.

As you clasp her neck with your hand you pull her down for a kiss. Thankfully, she accepts and the fire fades from her face like the passing storm. Any other clever romantic metaphors you think of poof out of existence as her lips eagerly meet your neck 

The next hour passes by in a blur that the author is not qualified to describe in detail.

V”ykhodila, pesniu zavodila, Pro stepnogo, sizogo orla.”

 

You wake in the morning to hear a soft song gently in your ear. As the dawn light seeps through the curtains you open your eyes and nestle yourself into Kanaya’s embrace. 

“Pro togo, kotorogo liubila, Pro togo, chi pisma beregla.”

Ah Katusha. A romantic song about a far away lover from the war. In another case it would remind you of the pressing matters that need attending to, but now you find it incredibly sweet. You give a quick kiss before heading and getting better dressed in the bathroom. When head back in though, you see her sitting on the chair pensively.

“What’s wrong?”

She pauses a bit before she phrases her sentence. “I need to ask a favor. I cannot imagine how big it is but it’s very important to me.”

“This is a change from your serene facade.” You would follow it up but the look of desperation on her face shuts you up. You listen as she articulates the favor.

“Colonel Karkat Vantas. An intelligence officer in the US. He was betrayed and captured by your people and now is stuck in an American prison. I wish to see him returned to his home to be free again.”

“How important is he?”

“He is essentially my son. I trained him for the field after his parents died and taught him everything I know. Apart from him he might be the only real family I have.”

She really cannot imagine how big it is. A captured operative in the US is a valuable source of information. Or it would be provided that the Colonel talks. He has proven to be both remarkable uncooperative and extremely creative in the insults for his interrogators. You suspect that the vulgarities he spews is a defense mechanism. More is the pity, as it’s proven to be remarkably resilient. Still you would have to figure out some way to rebalance it out to convince the higher ups to even consider this request. Only something equivalent.. Dave. Your eyes widen as your thoughts turn to your brother, still stuck in a gulag. With a smile your turn from your thoughts towards Kanaya. Much like your mother, you have stumbled upon the perfect plan.

“How about a deal then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's taken me a ridiculous amount of time to write this chapter but it's done. For the most part the obsessive historical accuracy will probably take a back seat after a few chapters.


	4. Lion and Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two meowrails hunt in the forest.

Lion and Horse

Date Unknown. 1957.  
Location Unknown. 25 KM from USSR - PRC Border

==> Be the silent pair of eyes in the tree

As a drop of sweat drips past your face paint you keep absolutely still on the branch. One hand hold you steady on the trunk of the tree as you keep watch over the road passage. Your other hand firmly holds the binoculars that look out onto the highway. All in all, you are essentially invisible in the camouflage uniform and paint. As it should be. 

“Nepeta, Status.” The words are soft but loud enough to shake you from your focus on the road. You look off and see a faint dust trail on the edge of your sight. They’re almost here. 

“About 1 kilo away. Tarrget is about to come into the trap. “ A quick zoom into the binoculars - indeed it’s a single car headed down the forested highway. 

“Excellent. Get ready.” You sigh. He’s always so serious, especially on mission. A little loosening up keeps you focused and would do wonders for him. The car drives up - a single occupant in the drivers seat. It’s almost sad. It’s some poor fool who thought he might find better luck and share info with the Chinese. He’s young too. Oh well. The car passes about a couple meters from the ambush spot and you flash a light off towards the distance. Two cracks ring out from the distance: the first hitting the target in the upper chest. and another hitting the wheel. The vehicle skids into a tree and crashes rather spectacularly. You leap from the tree and pounce squarely on the back of the vehicle. The target is just barely alive, and you do him a quick service by jabbing your claws in his neck. Honestly you don’t mind getting your paws messy for this anyway. 

In some ways this lonely highway reminds you of home. You grew up in the mountainous forests of the great Kazakhs. Ever since your parent’s died, food was scarce so you hunted in the mountains for prey. It was an interesting albeit somewhat lonely life. But that all changed when people from Moscow came looking for “the girl who hunts tigers in the mountains.” They didn’t take you away, but they offered you a chance to serve your country. And that’s where you met him, your intrepid partner in action. 

There’s no good word to call what the two of you have. He too was a lonely cat but had this way about him. Came from the military family growing up you suppose. But the two of you met and were inseparable ever since. Over time he has made the practical sparring partner but… something more in some ways. You don’t look at him that way and he certainly doesn’t, but you share a certain trust that’s very rare. He’s as strong as an ox but he always gets himself into trouble. For the most part you keep him out of it. 

He’s probably one of the few people you trust with your life. Well, him and the crabby boy you meet time to time. “Oh god not now” you think. But being back in the mountains brings you back to your childhood. You remember the familiar smell of bark and cold wood, a well as the feel of the wind that gives word of where prey lies. Karkat would always find it silly but he’d listen to you talk about those days for a while… 

But back to the mission. You’ve confirmed that the target is dead and it’s a job well done. Time to pack up and head home. 

“Equius, purrfect shot. We’re done here.” 

Rush of static.

“Mew? Equius?”

You hear him turn on his mic again but you hear an angry Chinese barking, panting, and gunfire. You don’t know what they’re saying but you can guess that he got spotted and he’s making a break for it. You quickly climb to the top branch above the tree line to check. The wind rushes through your hair as you poke your head out of the branches. In the distance you see Equius rushing towards your position. 

As he nears the tree he stumbles and falls straight on his face. The patrol of five behind catch up. In that moment, you drop from the tree straight down onto the rear Chinese soldier. The impact is cushioned by the claw that is embedded through his back. As they turn, you quickly dispatch the other two with two strikes to their necks. And Equius flips over onto his back and with two quicks shots, it’s just the two of you. 

He makes a small smile as you help him up and he ruffles your hair. “Good pounce, koshka.”

You pout and grumble about how he got spotted but the two of you go to inspect the car ruins. As you make your way to the car you spot a piece of partially burnt filing on the ground. Nothing’s really on it, just some documents the target was probably trying to - “Nep hand me that please”

As he stares at the piece of paper his eyes widen. He puts finger on a part of the paper that’s partially burnt off but it’s legible and obvious to you now: the seal of one of the Soviet High Command officer. You don’t know anything for sure, but whoever this idiot was, he had friends in high places. Or plans in high places. Both could be possible and they’re worse.

You run out of time to ponder a paper as you hear an angry call coming from the Chinese radio. They apparently realized that one patrol just went missing and are sending reinforcements Time to run for it. As the two of you make at a breakneck pace towards the border, Equius asks how far it is.

“Loshad, we have 25 kilos between here and home. Rready to run partner?”

His face sinks but he nods and the two of you make your way into the forest. Another day, another job complete. Hopefully it's the last you hear from the recently deceased. But you have a weird feeling that it will be far from that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's been forever but I'm finally getting to writing this again. I sort of have an idea of a plot now. And better, I won't be in school for the next few months. 
> 
> Notes:  
> Loshad: Russian for Horse  
> Koshka: Russian for cat.


End file.
